


Claritas

by CrossPoison



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adorable Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV), Attempted Sexual Assault, Attempted robbery, F/M, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied Sexual Content, Language of Flowers, Nobility, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Politics, Slow Burn, Yearning, din being the overprotective father figure he was always meant to be, din djarin x oc - Freeform, lots of yearning, mando x oc, yeah this planet is Not Fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23677540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrossPoison/pseuds/CrossPoison
Summary: A fuel shortage strands the Mandalorian and his son on an unfamiliar planet under the crushing rule of a malicious king. Luckily, they first meet Elliotte--a local harpist who helps them blend in and lay low.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Female Character, The Mandalorian/OC, The Mandalorian/Original Female Character
Comments: 9
Kudos: 68





	1. 1

One could find quiet solace within the walls of the palace after the sun had set. The corridors were emptied of their usual hustle and bustle, and the only sound was the faint musical tones from within one of the nobility’s rooms. Behind closed doors was Elliotte Cantossan, a young woman with fair skin and a spray of freckles across her nose. Her curly blonde hair was kept out of her face by several blue flowers tied intricately into the short strands while her thin but calloused fingers graced across the strings of a large harp-like instrument with skillful precision. 

While her blue eyes watched each movement with the same kind of dedication, her legs folded neatly beneath her as she leaned against the instrument. A blue and silver dress pooled around her ankles and a large silver bracelet enclosed her right forearm to her wrist. If the metal hindered her performance in any way, she didn’t show it.

Although she remained rooted to the spot inside the room of a noble, she, herself was not one of them. Instead, the nobleman lounging across the armchair a few feet ahead of her listened to her play, foot bouncing along with the rhythm and feeding himself pieces of cut fruit from the local markets. 

As the sun disappeared behind the railing of the balcony, submerging the room in a faint darkness, Elliotte finally rose to her feet and folded her instrument until it was at a proper carrying size. 

“Ohh, must you go so soon, dear Elliotte? Your music is just so soothing… I do my best thinking by the sound of your playing, you know!” said the noble, lifting himself out of the armchair, “I would, of course, be willing to pay you extra for your trouble.”

“Apologies, Lord Ygress… you know the rules,” the musician replied, smoothing the wrinkles out of her dress as she made for the door. “I will return the same time next week, I assure you.”

Lord Ygress heaved a sigh, but placed a small pouch of credits into her waiting palm. “Yes, yes. Same time, same place.”

Elliotte let herself out and pulled the door shut behind her. She leaned against the wall and placed her condensed instrument onto the marble floor beside her. With both hands, she tugged open the small pouch to count her credits… it surely wasn’t a hefty amount, but it was plenty to scrape by.

She closed her palm around the bag again and retrieved her instrument, making her way out of the noble’s quarters and into the quiet street. Cietovus 8 had finally set behind the treeline, bringing evening to the planet of Listronus and bathing the pathways and marketplaces in the familiar dusky blue of night. Many of the merchants had called it a day, backing up their wares and covering their booths with tarps to ward off any curious enough to roam the markets at night. 

At the street corners waited the homeless, watching those that passed with sunken eyes and an underlying desperation that simple words couldn’t fix. Elliotte turned the corner and found escape in her small house. She placed her instrument near the door and set the pouch of credits on the table alongside several others---her daily earnings. She opened each pouch individually and dumped them onto the counter until she’d formed a pile of the glittering chips. Elliotte counted out the necessities, taking into consideration her rent and household bills, and the money she’d need for food throughout the week. She put them back into a single pouch and guided the rest of them into a second. 

Again, Elliotte stood, second pouch in hand, and made her way back into the street. She locked the door behind her and followed the twisting pathways, straying further from city central and the palace she’d come from. The further she traveled, the scarcer the amount of people became, and the distance between each house grew longer and longer. In her part of the city, her house was cramped on either side by the next, but out here there was an increased amount of space… people could even have a _yard_.

That being said, the quality of living certainly went down. There wasn’t a home in sight that didn’t have the windows boarded up, or a yard that wasn’t overtaken by weeds and twisting, gnarled bushes. 

Finally, Elliotte had arrived at her destination at one of these very houses. She made her way up to the front porch and knocked several times in a certain pattern, and after a moment, the old wood creaked open and Elliotte was met with the smiling face of her oldest friend. 

This was Rhythimi Fes, her long-suffering and impossibly kind childhood friend and current inspiration. There was none on Listronus Elliotte admired more than she. Rhythimi was dressed in a modest brown dress, a dirtied apron tied around her waist and a smudge of flour on her cheek. Her brown eyes were still bright with youth, but the dark circles that surrounded them hinted that her life was anything but easy.

“Rhy,” Elliotte breathed fondly, closing the space between them and pulling her into a tight hug. 

Rhythimi returned the gesture immediately before tugging her inside. “You’re late.”

“I know. I had an extra client today. I’m sorry,” Elliotte replied, following her inside the small building. The entryway was the only space that was empty--everywhere else, dozens of homeless and refugees huddled against the walls, sharing stories and warming themselves in front of the fireplace. As Elliotte entered, a number of them lifted their heads and gave fond grins in her direction, which she immediately returned.

“Ell!” said a young boy, running up and attaching himself to her leg. Elliotte patted his head fondly and knelt down to his level. 

“Good evening, Tur! Where’s your sister?”

“Sleeping. She told me to tell you ‘hello’ in case she missed you,” the boy answered.

“I’m sorry I’m late… apologize to her for me in the morning, okay?” 

As the boy ran off to rejoin his family, Ell returned her attention to Rhythimi, who had begun passing out the evening rations. “When you have a moment, I have it here.”

Rhy excused herself from the others quietly, and rejoined Elliotte in the entryway. Elliotte passed her the pouch of credits and gently clasped her hand. “I’m sorry. I know it isn’t much… if there’s anything--”

Rhy lifted her hand to stop her, “Ell, this is plenty. You do _plenty_.”

“My offer still stands… if there gets to be too many here, my house…”

“You know that’s not possible, Ell. I know how much you yearn to help more than you do, but you know what would happen, if…” Rhy glanced at the silver bracelet locked around Elliotte’s wrist and trailed her fingers over the glistening metal. A moment of quiet understanding passed between the two. “You have your own battles to fight, Elliotte.”

Ell could not find the proper words to respond; She was right, of course. “If the King finds out what you’re doing here…”

“I’m prepared to make that sacrifice. If he wants me dead, he can have me. At least I’d die doing something I’m proud of,” Rhy gently removed her hands from Elliotte’s grip and pulled open the pouch of credits. “What you’ve brought today will provide everyone here with three meals. You should be proud.”

“I’ll be proud when I can provide all of them,” Elliotte answered and turned her head back toward the common room. “It’s not their fault they’re trapped here because of our careless government. For some of them, it’s not even _their_ government. They’re just trying to get home.”

“We could go on and on about the shortages and the government’s misuse of power all day, but what good will that do? There’s more important things to worry about right now, anyway,” answered Rhythimi, blowing a strand of her flaming-red hair out of her face. “You know… I could really go for some _artresmour_ right now.”

Elliotte’s lip quirked into a smile and she yielded with a nod. “Of course you could,” she guided her to sit down on the staircase and took her position behind her, combing Rhythimi’s red hair to one shoulder. Ell reached up and plucked a blue flower from her hair and began delicately weaving it into the other woman’s. A second followed. Then a third. Each additional flower added to an elaborate pattern, accentuating the natural beauty of Rhythimi’s bright hair with the contrasting colors.

Listronus had an abundance of flowers--a majority of the planet was covered in boundless flower fields, filled with unique colored and patterned petals. With this diversity, a new language was developed. _Artresmour_ was ancient Listronian practice that involved tenderly weaving flowers into the hair of loved ones to express feelings unable to be voiced by words. It was a bond that solidified love, friendship, and devotion in a million different ways, and every child born on Listronus was taught the practice of flower-weaving from a young age.

After Elliotte had finished her masterpiece and moved all of the flowers from her own hair to Rhythimi’s, she was satisfied. “There. How does that feel?”

“Much better, Ell. Thank you,” Rhy said, sitting upright again and turning to look at her friend. “It’s getting quite late, don’t you think? I’d hate to keep you here too late… this isn’t exactly a safe side of town, after all.”

“Yeah… I should get going. I’m going into the marketplace tomorrow… Do you need me to pick anything up?”

“Nah. We’ll manage just fine with the credits you’ve brought tonight. Keep working hard. I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

Elliotte nodded, climbing down the stairs behind Rhythimi and stopping at the door to lean into the common room and whisper a “goodnight” to anyone still awake. She got a few quiet waves and smiles from those still conscious before turning on her heel and making her way back into the silence of the night. Rhythimi saw her off and quietly shut the door behind her so she wouldn’t draw the suspicion of any neighbors from the nearby houses. 

Elliotte hugged her shawl tighter to her body and made her way back toward the city central. As she was doing so, she noticed movement high above her in the atmosphere--a ship. Another poor soul arriving on Listronus hoping to refuel, only to become stranded because of the shortage. She prayed that whoever was piloting the ship had enough sense to preserve enough fuel to get them to the next planet, but if this one was anything like the dozens that had come before them, this was their last shot within this solar system.

Everywhere else had run dry too.

Elliotte shook her head silently and continued on her way home, pushing the idea out of the forefront of her thoughts.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for implied sexual content toward the end of the chapter.

The next morning arrived sooner than Elliott would have liked. The light of Cietovus 8 pierced through her windows, bathing her room in the early light of dawn. Elliotte quietly picked herself out of bed and threw on casual morning clothes as she went about her morning routine in the washroom, brushing her hair and picking out any petals from the flowers that could have gotten stuck last night. 

Then, she quietly stepped out onto her balcony, rubbing sleep from her eyes and hoping to get a glimpse of the sunrise before Cietovus 8 became too blinding to look at during the heat of the midday. As she neared the railing and folded her arms across the polished metal, she caught a glimpse of movement down below.

It was odd to see--her balcony overlooked the marketplace, but it was still far too early for the merchants to be opening shop. When Elliotte leaned over the railing to get a better view, she was taken aback by the source of movement.

It was a man.

Made of metal.

Or at least… heavily clad in it. He wandered the empty street silently, a rather intimidating presence even from this far away. He certainly didn’t seem  _ confused _ , but definitely a bit out of place.

Elliotte tipped her head to the side, watching curiously as he lifted one of the merchant’s tarps as if looking for something specific. The rays of sunlight reflecting off of his silver armor normally would’ve been enough to give Ell a headache, but she was far too curious to miss even a moment of a sight like this. She’d never seen anything like it--anything like  _ him _ . His head was guarded by an impressively shaped helmet--probably hand carved. A t-shaped black-tinted visor obscured the man’s eyes from view, and a long cape billowed around his shoulders. 

Before she could stop herself, she decided to call out to him. “Sir? The market doesn’t open until--”

The man of metal whipped around with enviable speed, already pointing a blaster at her head from below. 

Elliotte could only muster a surprised squeak as she ducked down, taking cover behind the railing. “Sorry! I’m sorry! You just seemed a bit lost, is all!”

There was an excruciating pause, but Elliotte didn’t dare risk a peak back down below her balcony. Her heart was pounding so hard, she thought it might leap out of her throat.

“I’m not… lost.”

So he  _ could  _ speak? The man’s voice was muffled by the helmet and vaguely distorted by some sort of modulator. 

“Apologies, sir, I didn’t mean to presume… you just seemed to be interested in the merchant stalls, and, well… seeing as they don’t open for another few hours…” Elliotte tried her luck and carefully peered over the banister, relieved to find that although the strange metal man was still looking at her, he no longer pointed a weapon in her direction.

“Where can I find fuel?” said he, ignoring that she’d ever spoken.

Elliotte gave a weak scoff of a laugh, once again folding her arms over the railing of her balcony. “Hell if I know. There’s a horrible shortage at the moment… about a two-month waiting list if you’re going through the government.”

“I don’t  _ have  _ two months,” said the stranger sternly, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Elliotte simply shrugged. “And I don’t have fuel. Looks like we’re both losers.”

She could hear his sigh from a floor above him and watched as he raised a glove hand to his helmet to further punctuate his annoyance with his current predicament. Elliotte had seen the same expression on countless visitors prior as they left to find lodging for their unexpected stay.

“Do you need a place to stay? I have a friend who--”

“I’m fine. Thank you,” said the man curtly, turning away from her to begin his walk out of the marketplace.

Elliotte watched him for a moment, unable to shake the feeling that she should be doing something  _ more _ . Her visit with Rhythimi the previous night was still fresh on her mind. “If… there’s anything else you need, please let me know. I’d be happy to help.”

Unsurprisingly, the man didn’t offer a response. 

Elliotte pulled away from the railing finally, and returned to the comfort of her bedroom after pulling the balcony door shut and flipping the lock. As interesting as the stranger was, he was clearly in no mood to talk or answer her questions so she thought it best to let it die. In the meantime, she readied herself for another full day of work.

She swiftly changed into proper attire--a simple but elegant gray dress adorned with patterns of glittering silver beads. It mimicked the style of the nobles enough to warrant her presence in the palace without drawing too many scornful looks, and yet was distinct enough to set her apart from them to those she passed on the street. 

She was a worker, like them. They didn’t have to hide their possessions and avert their eyes anxiously as she passed them by, instrument folded beneath her arm tightly. By the time she arrived at the steps leading up to the grand pillars of the palace, Cietovus 8 had risen far enough above the treetops that life began to stir in the nearby streets. The marketplace would be opening any time now.

Elliotte made her way into the palace, dipping her head to the two guards keeping watch over the outside. Once she was within the grand halls, she retrieved a small sheet of paper from her sleeve. She had only four clients today, regrettably. Rhythimi would not be pleased with the haul tonight. Heaving a quiet sigh, the musician tucked her sheet away and continued her route throughout the palace hallways. Each hall was lined with the lavish rooms belonging to the nobility who worked directly under the King. Each time Elliotte found herself inside one of them, it never failed to surprise her just how large their living quarters were; Elliotte herself was fortunate enough to own a house near the city center, but a single noble’s room was just as large as her dwelling---and far more luxurious.

Elliotte stopped outside the room of her first client for the day. This was the room of Lord Miryus, potentially one of Ell’s least favorites to work with. All of the nobles were clueless to some extent, but Miryus was as insufferable as they come. Nevertheless, credits were credits, and she was in no place to deny service to any  _ one  _ of the royal court.

Elliotte steeled her nerves and lifted her hand to knock on the door. It was almost a full thirty seconds before there came an answer in the form of Lord Miryus, naked save for a towel wrapped around his waist, pulling the door open with a gruff greeting. Miryus was balding, with wiry gray hairs that couldn’t be flattened perfectly to his head no matter how often he attempted it. His face was rounded out, and his eyes had a rather dull look to them these days, a recurring pattern in those nobles who worked so closely with the brainless antics of the King. Behind him, a much younger woman dove out of sight, covering her exposed breasts. 

Elliotte cleared her throat softly to maintain some form of professionalism. “Good morning, Lord.”

He grumbled in response and pushed the door open for Elliotte to make her way inside, then turned to call out to the prostitute covering herself with the bedsheets, “It’s alright, Amarissa, baby! It’s just the musician,” he cooed, reaching for her.

Elliotte fought every urge to roll her eyes while she opened her instrument, setting it to its full height and taking a seat beside it while she gave a few testing tugs against the strings. The Lord and his company were far too caught up in their  _ own  _ business exchange to pay much mind to the harpist as she performed, the soft notes bouncing off the walls with enviable acoustics. Truly a pity her performance was wasted on such a man as this. Elliotte felt worse for the poor prostitute---how many hours had she spent with the stingiest man in the court, hoping for a fair bit of compensation?

Elliotte figured it wasn’t her place to question. Instead, she focused all of her attention on the instrument between her hands as if it were her lifeline, her island in a sea of unrelenting waves---her steady rock, and the one thing that could offer her peace in a world that only knew turmoil.


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for implied attempted assault and some sexual references.

Near the end of Elliotte’s time slot, the woman who shared Lord Miryus’s bed decided that it was finally time to call it quits and return to the local brothel, despite the Lord’s protests that he’d make it worth her while for  _ just one more hour, baby, please _ . He seemed to have not an ounce of shame or sense to his name, as he’d just made the poor musician sit quietly and strum her instrument during their heated  _ exchange  _ between the bedsheets.

Elliotte couldn’t say it was her first time to have to witness such a thing; The nobility spent so much time with their heads lodged up their own backsides that it was hardly surprising they’d take no notice of the company of a working-class citizen in their midst… unless they were paying her for pleasure. The prostitute finally bid him goodbye, and he paid her his dues---and not a cent more. The poor girl left and even Elliotte, seated halfway across the room, didn’t miss the way her jaw clenched in distaste. 

Somehow, the atmosphere in the room became even  _ more  _ uncomfortable with just she and the Lord remaining in his quarters. He had not even the decency to cover himself as he took a seat on the edge of his bed, lighting a cigar and placing it between his lips. “You know,” he drawled, exhaling a ring of smoke into the air of the room, “Your music is fine. You have a talent, and all, but you know I’d pay you more if you offered some  _ additional  _ services.”

Elliotte’s fingers faltered over the strings of her instrument for the briefest of moments before she steadied herself and continued her song, refusing to further acknowledge his statement. 

The Lord didn’t seem satisfied with this. “Hey. I’m talking to you, Cantossan. Isn’t it your job to  _ serve  _ the court?”

“It is my job to pluck these strings and compose written poetry when requested, Lord,” the musician answered, maintaining her composure. 

“Such delicate hands you have, my dear. You could do so much better with them. Come, allow me to show you.”

Elliotte abruptly rose to her feet and began to fold her instrument. “Apologies, Lord, but it seems as though your hour is--”

Before she could finish, her bare wrist was suddenly encircled by his large hand, preventing her escape. “I didn’t say you could leave,” the nobleman snarled, tightening his grip on her wrist until it was painful.

Internally, Elliotte was panicking. Her breathing was coming more quickly and her heart was pounding in her ears, but she maintained defiant eye contact with the large man. “Unhand me, Lord Miryus. I am your humble musician, not your prostitute. Please allow me the dignity of my choice.”

A few seconds of anxiety-inducing silence filled the space between them. Finally, after what felt like ages, Miryus’s grip on her arm softened, then fell away completely. He turned away from her, reaching for a handful of credits in his bedside drawer before tossing them carelessly at her---payment for the performance he cared not to listen to.

Elliotte stooped to quickly gather them up, tucking them in a spare pouch she kept tucked in her sleeve. Then, she picked up her instrument and briskly made for the exit. Only once the door was closed behind her did she let out a soft whimper of pain and clutch her wrist to her chest. It didn’t feel broken, but it certainly didn’t feel  _ right _ .

She stopped a maid in the hallway and inquired about the possibility of acquiring a pain killer, but the maid informed her she had access to none. 

Cursing under her breath, Elliotte had to bite the bullet and clear her schedule for the day. As disappointed as she was in herself, there was no use putting her arm at risk of additional damage by powering through whatever the issue was. She quietly thanked the maid and quietly made her way back down the front steps of the palace. She began to make the trek back to her house, but as she arrived near the marketplace, she figured to try her luck and inquire with the merchants about their available medicines. 

Most merchants sold flowers and vegetables, various meats, and some handcrafted jewelry, but occasionally there was a small stall that offered medical supplies. The merchant was called Helio, and Rhythimi was good friends with him. They had arranged deals in the past so Rhy could buy medicine in bulk to provide for her refugees, but there hadn’t been any with injuries lately; Elliotte doubted she’d have any pain killers on hand. 

Worse even, it didn’t seem like Helio was occupying his stall today. Elliotte chewed her lip thoughtfully… perhaps she could return to her house and try a home-made remedy? Ready to head home, she took a step backward and away from the stall and abruptly bumped into something hard. Ell whipped around quickly and came face-to-helmet with the man of metal she’d seen just earlier that morning. 

She inhaled sharply in surprise and nearly tripped backward into the empty merchant’s stall, but the man caught her arm to prevent her fall. Unfortunately, he grabbed her injured wrist and he must have noticed her immediate wince of pain because he let go just as quickly as he’d reached out.

“... Sorry,” Elliotte mumbled, curling her wrist against her chest.

“You’re hurt,” the metal man observed.

“I’m fine. Just a little accident. I came to the market to get some medicine, but it looks like Helio isn’t around today.”

The man eyed her thoughtfully for a long moment---at least, Elliotte assumed he was, judging by the angle of the t-shape in his helmet---before shifting his gaze away and turning on his heel. “Follow me.”

Perhaps against her better judgement, she did---at least for a couple of steps, until she realized he was leading her further out of the busy city center. Elliotte paused mid-step. “Where are you taking me?”

“I have a first aid kit on my ship,” replied the man, voice distorted by the modulator inside his helmet.

“... I can’t go onto your ship with you. I don’t  _ know  _ you.”

“I’m trying to  _ help  _ you.”

“And I appreciate it very much, I really do… but sir, the whole reason my wrist is injured in the first place is because I was alone in a room with a man I did not trust… please understand my concern.”

The metal man paused and looked over his shoulder at her. If she looked hard enough, she could pinpoint the exact moment his shield of annoyance dissolved away and his rigid posture relaxed by just a hair.

“If you really mean well, meet me at my house. You were there earlier this morning,” Elliotte said, already retreating back into the safety of the crowd. At least at home, she knew she had weapons and protective gear at her disposal in case this mystery man  _ did  _ have bad intentions with her.

She couldn’t be too careful---not after the morning she’d had.


	4. 4

As Elliotte returned to her home and pulled the door shut behind her, she set her instrument down near the door and tried to turn her wrist over to look at the injury a little closer. The skin was a bit swollen, and two finger-shaped bruises were beginning to form above the bone. Elliotte hissed in a breath as she touched it and was met with a sharp sting of pain. 

She pushed away from the door and made her way over to the stove, using her good hand to begin heating some water for tea. As she waited for it to boil, she sorted through various jars of herbs and dried flowers and set them down beside the stove. 

Before she could get much further, there was a faint knock at the door. Elliotte turned away from the stove long enough to retrieve a thick knife from the drawer. She slid it into her sleeve as a precaution and turned her attention to the door once again.

Elliotte opened it a crack only to be met with the imposing figure of the metal-clad man. “Oh, you’re here,” she said politely.

“I am.”

Elliotte opened the door a bit wider and allowed him to step into her small dwelling. “Thank you. I apologize, I don’t have company very often.”

Once he was inside, he turned to face her. “You should sit,” he said, nodding to the table and chairs nearby. Elliotte obeyed, stepping backward and sinking into one of the chairs. The metal man pulled the other chair closer and did the same. Only then did Elliotte notice the first aid kit as he set it down on the table. “Let me see your arm.”

Elliotte reluctantly extended her wrist to him, and he turned her arm over so her palm was facing upward. Gloved fingers found the bruises over her wrist, trailing over them feather-light and studying the intensity of the injury. Elliotte was taken aback by his unexpected gentleness, especially as he supported the weight of her arm with his other hand to keep it upright. His helmet tipped upward, once again meeting her gaze behind his helmet. “It’s a sprain. Not fractured.”

The man opened the medical kit and fished around within it for some supplies. When he retracted his hand, he held a roll of gauze and tape. “It’ll need a few days to heal, so be sure to keep it elevated and don’t do anything too stressful,” he unrolled the gauze and began to wrap her forearm tightly, to prevent her from moving her wrist too much and increasing the damage. 

A few days…? How will she be able to play her harp? If she can’t perform, she can’t collect credits… she would be able to manage just fine for a few days, but she wasn’t the  _ only one  _ relying on her income. 

As the man released her arm, she drew her wrist closer to her body, brow furrowed softly with worry. Now was not the time to panic. Instead, she lifted her gaze. “Thank you, sir. I’m in your debt---truly.”

The man waved her off and got to his feet with a metallic click from his armor. “No, you aren’t. Don’t worry about it.”

Elliotte stood as well and made her way back toward the stove to retrieve the now-boiling water. “I know it isn’t much, but the least I can do is offer you a cup of tea…”

The man stole a hesitant glance in the direction of the front door, shifting uncomfortably from side to side.

“You’re by no means obligated… but it’s a secret family recipe,” Ell tried as she began stirring in the herbs and flower petals she’d set out earlier. As the water boiled away at the leaves, the pleasant aroma wafted throughout the kitchen. Ell poured a bit of the liquid into a mug, careful not to allow the herbs to follow suit. 

Elliotte wasn’t sure if it was the smell or the honey-colored liquid in the second mug that enticed the metal man to stay, but he did---albeit obviously reluctantly. 

“I’m Elliotte, by the way. Elliotte Cantossan. What do you go by?”

“Most people just call me ‘Mando’,” he answered, looking down at the mug she’d handed to him.

“Well… it’s nice to put a name to the… um. Helmet? I can’t exactly say face, now can I,” Elliotte gave a weak chuckle to hopefully ease the tension and leaned against the counter. “Why do you wear all of that anyway?”

“I’m a Mandalorian… I can’t take the beskar off. At least while there’s another person present.”

None of the terminology was familiar to Elliotte at all---she recalled a few mentions in passing of the race of ‘Mandalorians’ by some of the nobility, but she’d never seen one in real life… it was then that she made the connection and glanced between the mug still gripped in his gloved hand and the t-shape of his beskar helmet. “Oh, shit… you can’t---I’m sorry. I didn’t realize---” Elliotte started, but she was interrupted by a faint sound from beneath the Mandalorian’s helmet, muffled through the modulator. A chuckle. A small one, but still recognizable.

“It happens more often than you’d think.”

“I could step into the other room for a few minutes, if you’d like,” Elliotte offered, now feeling a touch bad.

Mando seemed to ponder it for a moment, but he then dipped his head. “No, it’s alright. I should be going anyway.”

Elliotte chewed her lip thoughtfully, offering a slow nod. “Then… please, at least take it with you. It should be hot enough to stay warm until you make it back to your ship.”

At that offer, the Mandalorian nodded curtly behind his beskar. “... I think I’ll take you up on that. Thank you. I haven’t had tea since…” his voice trailed off, and his helmet tipped to the side. How long  _ had  _ it been?

It was Elliotte’s turn to chuckle. “That long, huh? Well… as long as you’re stranded on this planet, feel free to visit now and again. I have dozens of tea recipes I haven’t practiced with in ages,” she watched quietly as Mando packed all of his supplies back into the medical kit and clamped it shut before speaking again, “And… thank you. I’m sorry I don’t have anything more to repay you with.”

His helmet turned in her direction. “It’s a roll of  _ gauze  _ and some  _ tape _ . I think your  _ cup of tea _ is worth more.”

Mando’s light-hearted response to her apology startled a laugh from her. He  _ did  _ have a point---Elliotte was just touched by his kind gesture. He  _ did  _ come all this way, after all.

“Just don’t make it a daily habit. I’m not sure I have enough gauze for your other wrist,” he said, quietly picking the kit up and heading for her front door. 

“Well there go my plans for tomorrow.” Elliotte replied, her heart nearly skipping a beat when her response earned another chuckle from the usually stoic man. She opened the door for him and smiled as he passed her and stepped down onto the sidewalk. He turned to face her once more and pointed sternly around the mug of steaming tea in his hand.

“Remember, keep it elevated.  _ Don’t  _ do anything stressful, or you’ll be nursing it for more than a couple of days.” And with that, he was gone, briskly making his way down the street until he was no longer in sight. 

Now back inside the house, Elliotte returned to the counter and retrieved her own mug from beside the stove. She sipped the warm tea from it slowly, and thanked the gods that it tasted like heaven.


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a filler chapter set aside for character development! We'll get back into the fun stuff starting next chapter.

Elliotte spent the rest of the daylight hours gradually tidying up the lower floor of her dwelling. It was a much more slow-paced and grueling task than usual, considering she had use of only one arm. She was definitely attempting to heed the Mandalorian’s suggestion, limiting the use of her injured wrist as much as possible. Still, ever since she was a little girl, she found herself unable to sit still for extended periods of time. 

Staying in her house and getting absolutely nothing accomplished was definitely off the table. She found her most success when her mind was occupied with other things, so she didn’t have enough time to get caught up in her own thoughts and worries… like what she was going to bring Rhythimi tonight. 

Elliotte had managed to evade this question for the majority of the day, but as Cietovus 8’s light began to wane for the day, she could no longer delay the inevitable. 

Rhythimi was a kind and patient woman, who never asked a thing of Ell in the first place---Ell knew she had no expectations for what could be provided to her organization to aid the refugees---but that didn’t mean Elliotte didn’t have her  _ own  _ expectations. With a sigh, Elliotte opened her bedside drawer and was met with her small stash of savings.

Elliotte cut it close from week to week, saving herself enough credits for rent and food, and a little bit put aside for an emergency… The rest went to Rhythimi to aid her cause. Ell could afford to take a bit out of her savings to make up for her lost income, right?

She sighed and scooped a handful of credits into her palm and hid them away in the pouch attached to her dress’s belt loop. Then, she made her way back downstairs and to the front door. Before she could step onto the porch, something near her foot caught her eye---it was the mug Mando had taken with him when he’d left her house. At some point, he must have come back to return it. 

In all honesty, she just assumed he’d keep it. It didn’t seem worth making a trip back just to leave it at her doorstep---It was a simple gesture that touched the musician’s heart. Elliotte bent to retrieve it, smiling to herself as she returned to the kitchen to place it in the sink. She’d wash it once she returned.

Once that was taken care of, she made her way back outside and shut the door behind her. The streetlamps were already beginning to illuminate the faint light, brightening Elliotte’s path as she walked. Although Rhythimi’s dwelling was a bit out of the way, Ell knew the route like the back of her hand. It hardly felt like a trek anymore.

Before too long, she’d arrived at her destination. She approached the front porch and knocked in code. The door swung open almost immediately and Rhythimi’s head peeked out, red hair kept in place by dozens of tiny white flowers weaved intricately between the strands. “Come in, Elliotte.”

She stood back and held the door open so Ell could make her way inside. A couple of greetings from the refugees in the common rooms was quick to follow, and Ell gave them a smile and wave before returning her attention to Rhythimi, whose gaze immediately latched on to her gauze-wrapped arm. “The hell  _ happened? _ ” She asked, her voice tinged with thinly disguised panic.

“Goddamn noble tried to get handsy. I’m fine. It’s just a sprain… but see, that’s the problem… I won’t be able to play for a few days, so…” Ell reached for the pouch of credits attached to her belt and passed them to her red-headed friend.

Rhythimi pocketed the fabric-wrapped currency and her delicate hands gently found their way to Elliotte’s wrist, lightly turning her arm over and careful not to hurt her. “We’ll manage, Elliotte… you poor dear. Did he…?”

“No. No, he didn’t. He seemed to come to his senses rather quickly.”

“Good. That’s good. Did you wrap this by yourself…? It’s very precise for only having use of one hand.”

“Oh. No, I had some help… a Mandalorian I met this morning,” Ell said, gingerly retracting her arm from her friend’s grip. 

Rhythimi’s eyes shot up quickly. “A  _ Mandalorian  _ is here?”

“Yes. He’s come here in search of fuel. Same as everyone here.”

“Curious… I don’t remember ever seeing one on Listronus. He must come from far away,” Rhythimi mumbled, speaking more to herself than Ell, “... But never mind that for a moment. Sit on the stairs. You could use some  _ artresmour  _ …”

Elliotte opened her mouth to insist that it wasn’t necessary, but before she could, she was being guided to sit and Rhythimi was already taking her place behind her on the stairs, untying the little white flowers from her hair and transferring them into Elliotte’s blonde curls. 

A few moments of peaceful silence filled the space between them before Elliotte spoke again. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to bring in any extra credits for a bit… I’ll try to get back to work as soon as possible.”

“Don’t push yourself. If you go back too quickly, you could do some permanent damage. That’ll do none of us any good.”

“But---”

“ _ Elliotte _ . We’ll be fine,” Rhy replied, pausing to guide her friend’s gaze to the living room where several refugees gathered together, telling stories and laughing, enjoying each other’s company. “Some things are more important than money. We have each other, don’t we? Besides, you get the hard part of this deal… while I get to spend my days surrounded by people with fire in their eyes and love in their hearts, y _ ou  _ get to have your wrist sprained by the selfish and ignorant, who know nothing more about you than the silver on your arm.”

At her words, Ell’s gaze shifted to her hands folded across her lap. One forearm was wrapped in gauze---the other wrapped in carved silver, a symbol of an unpayable debt to the royal court. She couldn’t decide which arm made her feel more trapped and powerless.

“You have a bleeding heart, Elliotte,” Rhy said, and Ell was sure she could hear the playful smirk in her voice. “Perhaps you could get your Mandalorian to wrap that for you, too.”

Elliotte reached around to smack her friend with her good arm, and Rhythimi’s hands quickly fell away from her hair as she ducked aside to evade the onslaught, laughing all the while. 

“Don’t be so ruthless, Rhy! Haven’t I had a difficult enough day without your torment?”

“Enough theatrics,” Rhythimi replied with a playful roll of her eyes before settling back in behind her and once again returning to her  _ artresmour _ . “If you want  _ real  _ torment, I could always bring up the subject of Stangrid Lun!”

Elliotte let out a horrified groan and let her face fall into her palms. “ _ Please _ don’t mention that wretched man. My mother,  _ Maker rest her soul, _ was a huge believer in the idea of arranged marriages. I, however, am not.”

Rhythimi laughed as she tied off a row of white flowers and began on the next. “I remember that day so fondly---Stangrid was never one to… take hints, was he? He tried his luck with that kiss of his and next thing he knew he was up to his shoulders in stream water!”

Elliotte offered a chuckle at the memory. “I didn’t know it was possible to call off a wedding that quickly! Neither did my father, I suppose. I got a real tongue-lashing for it that night. Between you and I, though, I’d do it  _ again  _ in a heartbeat!”

“I know this. I’m incredibly surprised you didn’t end up laying that nobleman out in one hit this morning---or did you conveniently leave that part out of your retelling?”

“No, no. No noblemen were knocked out this morning, at least by my hand! If word about that gets out, every bit of my career could be ruined in a matter of hours,” Elliotte answered.

“Unfortunately, I think you’re right. As much as I know you hate it, it’s best to bite your tongue and…  _ bide your time _ .”


	6. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're finally getting into the more fun stuff.  
> Thanks for continuing to slow-burn with me!

As the evening eased deeper and deeper into darkness, Elliotte bid Rhythimi and the refugees a good night and began her walk back to her own home. She stepped onto the porch and made her way down to the side walk, glancing left and right down the empty street. She’d made the walk home at this time of night dozens of times, but tonight something felt… different.

The air felt heavy, and she couldn’t shake the idea that she was being followed. Although the urge to break into a run was growing, she willed herself to maintain her composure and continue the route at a normal pace. The last thing she wanted was to draw unnecessary attention to Rhy’s safehouse. 

Elliotte’s boldness wilted, however, when faint footsteps began to tail her, and before she knew it a man was beside her, walking at her side a bit too casually. He didn’t attempt to pass---just matched her pace with each step. 

“That’s a nice dress, little flower,” he gruffed after a moment, “You from the palace?”

“No,” Elliotte answered curtly.

“You sure? That’s some expensive-looking bead work.”

“It’s not. It’s homemade.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday, noble. I’m going to tell you this just once,” he stopped abruptly and took her by the shoulder, forcing her to stop beside him. Before Elliotte could wrench out of his grip, a blade was pressed to her throat, digging into her skin. “Give me all the credits you have on you---and that nice silver bracelet you got on.”

Elliotte resisted the urge to roll her eyes, grateful she’d already handed her credits to Rhythimi earlier in the evening. “You  _ sure  _ you weren’t born yesterday? If you can’t tell, I don’t have any credits on me. This thing doesn’t have pockets. And  _ this-- _ ” Elliotte lifted her silver-clad forearm and shook it in front of his face, “ _ Doesn’t _ come off.”

Abruptly, the would-be mugger seemed to realize his mistake... but he held his ground, a snarl on his lip. “Don’t play games with me, girl,” he growled, “Or I’ll kill you and pry it off your arm myself!” Before Elliotte could move, he grabbed her arm and tried to forcefully pull off the silver clasped around her forearm. True to her word, it hardly budged. 

“Oh, what a surprise.”

The blade against her throat returned, pressing in a little deeper and causing her to draw in a faint hiss of breath, but before the man could offer another threat, Elliotte’s attention was drawn to faint movement in the darkness behind him. 

Suddenly, the pressure against her neck was released as the man was hauled backward with incredible force. A gloved hand covered his mouth quickly, preventing the escape of the horrified cry the man tried to give as he was quickly subdued and knocked out. 

Elliotte stumbled back in surprise, a hand coming up to rub at her throat where the knife had been pressed. As her rescuer rose back up to his full height, she caught a glimpse of shiny beskar and let out a soft breath of relief she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “ _ Mando-- _ ”

“I told you not to make this a habit,” he answered, gently taking her good arm to help her to her feet. 

Ell chuckled weakly in response and smoothed out her dress once she had gotten her footing. “It’s not intentional…  _ genius  _ over there thought I was nobility.”

“You aren’t?”

“ _ Gods _ , no. My time spent in the palace is only to play music for them, and occasionally read poetry. I suppose I need to rethink my choices if people are beginning to mistake me for one,” Elliotte replied, unable to keep the look of disgust that crept across her face, causing her nose to wrinkle.

Mando didn’t respond to her comment, instead angling his helmet to look down the street. “It’s getting late, and trouble seems to enjoy following you… my ship is far closer to here than your house is. I don’t suppose you’d take me up on an offer of a place to stay tonight, would you?”

Truth be told, Elliotte was exhausted, and the idea of walking all the way back home tonight was stomach-churning. She’d had more than enough excitement for one day. “I’d hate to impose… you’ve already done more than enough.”

“If you prefer, I’ll walk you home instead.”

“I wouldn’t ask that of you.”

“You haven’t  _ asked  _ anything of me. I wouldn’t offer if it wasn’t genuine.”

Elliotte was cautious by nature… under regular circumstances, she would never trust a strange man enough to return with him to his ship, but he’d come to her aid twice in one  _ day _ . She felt she owed him at least a  _ chance  _ to be trusted. “Then… I suppose… if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“It isn’t. Follow me,” replied the man as he turned on his heel and began to make his way in the direction of his ship. 

Elliotte followed close behind, not wanting to take her chances on the streetside any longer. On this side of town, it felt almost impossible to make out distinct shapes in the darkness without the aid of street lamps, and the musician was on edge enough as it was. 

Thankfully, the Mandalorian hadn’t been lying; his ship was significantly closer than her own house was, albeit a bit off the beaten path. The houses had grown scarcer until the architecture gave way to the vast wilderness of Listronus’s lush grass fields. The Mandalorian’s ship was tucked away behind the far treeline, well-obscured from view of any common passerby. Although Elliotte was no expert in spacecraft, she could tell the one before her was an older model than the types that normally harbored on her planet. All in all, it was the ideal location for a  _ murder  _ to take place, she thought. Wouldn’t that just be the cherry on top of such an eventful day?

As she was questioning the decisions she’d made that led to this very moment, Mando approached the side of his ship and fiddled with a button on the underside, opening the ship’s ramp. Without saying a word to her, he stepped inside. Elliotte reluctantly followed, keeping a fair distance in case she needed to bolt, but her curiosity ultimately got the best of her as she found her gaze drawn to the various boxes of tools and supplies lining the ship’s walls. Elliotte had been on Listronus all her life, and had never travelled elsewhere, so she’d never actually set foot in someone’s ship before. 

She was sure her eyes were alight with wonder, but she quickly snapped back to attention when she saw the figure of the Mandalorian shift back into her line of sight. 

Despite the lack of personal belongings on-board, Elliotte couldn’t entirely bite back her question: “Do you live on this ship?”

“Mostly,” came the reply, muffled behind the helmet, “Occasionally I’m able to find other arrangements, but usually it’s just easier to stay put.”

Before Elliotte could respond, she became distracted by a faint tugging near the bottom of her dress. Glancing down, she was met with a small green creature wrapped in brown cloth, with ears and eyes seemingly a bit too big for its face. It cooed softly up at her as Elliotte blinked in surprise and slowly bent down to its level. She’d met with countless species over the years, but none who looked anything quite like this. She tilted her head thoughtfully and the little creature mimicked the movement, lips opening in a curious almost-smile.

“... Hi,” Ell said softly, the corner of her lip curling into a smile, “Were you here this whole time?”

The little green creature’s ears lifted slightly as she spoke, blinking its black eyes at her. Before she could say another word, the Mandalorian stepped between them and carefully picked the creature up. “... He’s…  _ supposed  _ to be asleep.” 

“What  _ is  _ he?” Elliotte asked, getting to her feet once again.

“He’s a child. I’m looking after him for now,” Mando replied simply, stepping away from her once again. “You’re welcome to use the cot down here. I’ll be upstairs.”

Ell glanced in the direction he’d gestured and noticed a small area to her left, complete with a cot and little shelf. The area formed a little alcove in the ship to offer a fair bit of privacy, much to her relief. When she drew her gaze back to the Mandalorian, he was already climbing the rungs of the ladder to the ship’s upper level. “Thank you,” she said softly, “Thanks again for letting me stay here for the night.”

He angled his helmet in her direction for a moment, offering a small nod while the child in his arms cooed quietly and wrapped his tiny fingers around the fabric of Mando’s cloak. “...You’re welcome.”

With that, he was out of sight and Ell was once again left on her own. It was then that the exhaustion of the day finally caught up to her and she found herself sinking down on the small cot prepared for her. She rolled onto her back and drew the thin blanket over her, already feeling lulled to sleep. Before long, she had drifted off.


	7. 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hot minute! I had a few weeks where I felt so burned out I couldn't get any writing accomplished... Hoping to change that in the coming weeks. Thanks for your patience!

When Elliotte awoke the next morning, it wasn’t to the familiar sight of sunlight peeking through the shades of her bedroom balcony, but to the cool and soft darkness of the Mandalorian’s ship. She sat up quickly, readjusting to her surroundings and doing her best to pat down any bed head she’d acquired throughout the course of the night.

  
After a few moments, she’d willed herself to stand up and reenter the main segment of the ship but before she could get much further, she heard Mando climb down from the upper level and join her in the main area.

  
“You’re awake,” he acknowledged, “Here. I brought you this.” He turned a small purple object over in his gloved hand and passed it to her.

  
Ell took it from him and couldn’t resist a smile as she recognized the familiar round shape he’d offered her. “That’s very kind of you---but why are you giving me a grange fruit?”

  
The Mandalorian had no response readily available to such a question, aside from a slow tilt of his helmet. Then, after a long moment of consideration, “To… eat?”

  
Elliotte looked back down at the fruit and nodded slowly. “I appreciate the gesture, truly. Grange fruits are… a Listronus specialty… but they are incredibly toxic. Not for eating. But… excellent medicinal properties, and the skin can be boiled into a delicious tea when mixed with some of the local flowers. Very tasty.”

  
“Certainly glad I didn’t try to eat it myself, then. I suppose I’ll have to have a chat with the merchant who tried to pass it off as edible.”

  
Elliotte chuckled, scraping a fleck of dirt off of the grange fruit with her fingernail, “Try not to go too hard on ‘em. Everyone’s just trying to make a living around here---not that it excuses the selling of toxic fruits to visitors!” With a sigh, she let her arm drop to her side, “I apologize. We used to be more hospitable people.”

  
“You have quite a bit of knowledge about this planet… have you lived here for a long time?” Mando asked, quietly taking a seat on one of the storage containers across from her.

  
Ell nodded stiffly. “I’ve always lived here… This is my first time even setting foot on a ship like this! I’m impressed, I must say. All these boxes… and you said you practically live in here, right? So you must do a lot of travelling.”

  
“Mostly for work.”

  
“What do you do?”

  
“I used to be a bounty hunter. I guess… I still am, but I’ve got the kid now so I have more pressing matters to prioritize.”

  
Elliotte tried to hide the white-hot fear that coursed through her at the mention of bounty hunters. It had been a concern of hers for a long time that Listronus’s king would call for bounty hunters to shut down operations like Rhythimi’s… still, it was hard to believe that this particular Mandalorian would travel from so far for something like this. Ell felt he was being sincere… perhaps her bit of trust was misplaced, but he’d given her no reason not to believe him. “So you aren’t here looking for someone?”

  
“No. I’m just here for fuel.”

  
“Many are… I’ve seen a few travelers have to bite the bullet and settle down here. The king has monopolized all fuel resources and imports and distributes them in miniscule portions. There’s not nearly enough to go around.”

  
“You may find it difficult to believe, but this isn’t the worst planet I’ve been stranded on. I don’t mind staying here until my turn.”

  
Elliotte fell silent for a moment, gaze drawn once again to the grange fruit between her hands, “You know, if you’ll be here for a while, you’ll have to learn not to be deceived by tricky merchants. Maybe you could use a guide.”

  
“Are you offering?” said the Mandalorian, catching her by surprise yet again. Her eyes shot up, meeting the t-shape of his beskar as she carefully pondered her answer. “I can pay you for your time,” he continued.

  
The thought of money during her recovery period made her graze her fingertips over her sprained wrist. “Well… it’s not like I’m really able to work my regular job, is it? Sure. I’m offering. I’ll teach you how to deal with the locals and the nobility, and… which fruits are toxic and which are fine to eat,” she chuckled, “and… whatever else you’re hoping to learn about this planet.”

  
“Great. When do we start?”

  
“Right now?”

  
Mando’s armor clinked together with a metallic sound as he stood. Ell did the same, but before she headed for the ramp, she glanced just past his shoulder to the ladder to the upper level, where he’d taken the little green child the night before.

  
Mando followed her gaze for a brief moment, then brushed past her and made his way toward the ship’s exit. “He’ll be fine. This won’t be the first time he’s been left alone during the day.”

  
The harpist was quick to follow, squinting against the harsh sunlight as she stepped out into it. “I’ve overslept,” Ell noted, “If I was scheduled to work this morning, I’d already be starting with my third client.”

  
“Good thing you aren’t, then,” came the beskar-clad man’s reply, “Where would you like to start guiding?”

  
“The marketplace. Perhaps we can negotiate a refund for your grange fruit,” Elliotte said, increasing her pace so she could properly walk beside him as they returned to the city center. “I’m sure many places in the galaxy practice negotiations and trades---on Listronus, it’s a way of survival. If you play the right cards and talk to the right people, you can start with a grange fruit and end up with a house.”

  
By the time the stalls of the crowded marketplace had come into view, Elliotte had gone over numerous negotiation methods valued by the local Listronians, and as she came to a halt in front of one of the vendors, she held up the purple grange fruit to demonstrate. The man before her was short and stocky, a thick beard covering his lower face and a few orange-tinted blossoms wrapped around some of the fine hairs to add an interesting accent to his dark features.

  
This particular merchant’s stall was covered in decorative strands of beads, all hand-crafted and sewn together to create beautifully elaborate color combinations and designs. As Elliotte began to offer her trade, chattering quickly with the merchant in their native tongue, the Mandalorian reached for one of the bead strands in a nearby basket, turning it over to closely survey the craftsmanship.

  
It was rather cheaply made, with inexpensive strands of cloth wrapped around thin white beads that matched the color of the wilting flower petals in Elliotte’s hair, but there was still something simple and beautiful about it.

  
Mando was no expert in the Listronian language, but he’d done enough travelling in his time to be able to recognize a few words in his companion’s conversation with the merchant.

  
“....Wife… heart… ill…”

  
They discussed intently for a moment before Ell’s expression brightened and grew into a wide smile. She handed the merchant the grange fruit, and after it was in his grasp, the man gestured to the basket of bead strands. “Three.”

  
“Take three,” Ell followed up, offering the Mandalorian a smile before gently shaking the merchant’s hand. “May she have a swift recovery.” With that, she turned and made her way back to the Mandalorian’s side, just as he finished retrieving three strands from the basket.

  
As they moved on from the stall, Elliotte lowered her voice just a bit. “It’s not difficult to barter here… everyone needs something, whether it’s a piece of furniture for their dwelling or leaves for tea. Grange fruit, as I mentioned earlier, has great medicinal properties. Joju’s wife has been feeling ill this week, with a high fever and heart pain… the fruit will help ease her fever when prepared the right way. In exchange, we have three bead threads.”

  
“Why didn’t you just purchase them? They weren’t expensive,” inquired Mando, curious to follow her process.

  
“If you bought everything in the marketplace with credits, you’d be broke within weeks. If a merchant knows you can pay the full price immediately, they’ll raise it… that’s how you wind up convinced a grange fruit is edible.”

  
“Fair point… Now we have beads. What’s a step up from that?”

  
“Now, you consider who’d have the most use for beads. You’d have trouble selling beads to a fruit salesman---what use would he have for them, right? So instead…” Elliotte trailed off, smoothing her hand down the side of her dress and tapping at a few of the beads sewn into the fabric, “You’d be better off approaching a seamstress.” She nodded further down the row of stalls where two female merchants were sitting, smiling at customers and engaging in polite conversation while they threaded a pattern into a violet-colored dress shirt.

  
Elliotte maneuvered through the crowd, followed closely by Mando, until she came to a halt in front of the seamstresses. Up close, Mando noticed that they, too, boasted brightly-colored flowers in their hair. It was then he reasoned the flowers must have some sort of cultural significance on Listronus, but he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around how or why.

  
The seamstress closest to the front of the stall lit up as Elliotte drew near. “Ellie! Long time no see… glad to see the dress I made is holding up! Is your arm alright…? What’s happened?”

  
“No need to worry, Lisete. Just a little accident… and yes, the dress is marvelous. Comfortable… fits like a glove… absolutely perfect.”

  
Lisete was positively glowing by the time Ell had finished speaking about the quality of her dress. “Is there something specific you’ve come here for today?”

  
“My friend and I have just come to offer you these,” Elliotte said, passing her one of the strands, “Your beadwork is always so impressive, and I know you love to use many shapes and sizes in your patterns. Would you have any use for these?”

  
Lisete hummed thoughtfully as she pulled at the cheap cloth until a bead came loose in her palm. “They’re awfully tiny… but not useless by any means. I have a skirt that these would look lovely on. What are you hoping to get for them?”

  
Ell hummed softly, leaning down and folding her arms across the table. “I was wondering if you had any string… some firm but flexible string.”

  
Lisete glanced over her shoulder toward the other seamstress, who nodded and passed her a spool of rolled string. “We can offer you this. This is made from ostratine root fibers rather than our typical fabric threads… it’s stretchy and resilient, but not very comfortable if you’re hoping to wear something made of it.”  
“This is perfect, Lisete, thank you,” Elliotte said, “Would you trade the full spool for three bead strands?”

  
“Sure would.”

  
Ell passed her the beads and took the wrapped string before saying her goodbyes and making her way back into the marketplace.

  
“You’re good at this,” Mando stated.

  
“I’ve been doing it for a long time. It’s important to build up a bit of a reputation here in the market, so people know you won’t screw them over. Learn about them. Buy from them. They’ll come to trust you. Do you want to try the next exchange?”

  
“... I suppose.”

  
“Take a look at these stands… who do you think would have the most use for a string like this?”

  
The Mandalorian turned his helmet, scanning the nearby stalls slowly before settling on one at the opposite side of the aisle, where a lanky man was laughing and shaking hands with a customer with a handful of fish wrapped in parchment. “A fisherman,” was his answer through the modulator, “He can use the string for his poles.”

  
“Great eye. You’re a fast learner,” Elliotte replied, passing him the spool.

  
As Mando went to cross the street, a figure from further down the row caught his eye. He stood out in the crowd with expensive-looking robes made of fabrics that certainly weren’t being sold in the marketplace. The hood of his robe was fused with some kind of animal bone with various pointed tips, like a crown around the back of his neck. The skin around his eyes was decorated in royal blue paint, a color that only seemed to accentuate his worst features. He was balding, so he wore no flowers, but Mando still recognized him immediately as Listronian.

  
“Lord Miryus,” he heard Elliotte breathe from beside him, “He’s the one who sprained my wrist.”

  
“ _He_ did this?”

  
“Yes. He’s a nobleman who lives in the palace. It’s awfully pretentious that he dresses like that here in the market---the antlers and paint are a sign of status… as if any of us could doubt it, when he struts around like the king himself anywhere he goes.” Elliotte said, and Mando didn’t miss the way her nose wrinkled with distaste.

  
“If you have such a dislike for the nobility… why do you work so closely with them?”

  
“I need money. They like music… it’s like I said before---Everyone needs something; there’s always an exchange to be made,” Elliotte finally drew her gaze back to him and forced a weak smile, nodding to the spool of string in his hand. “Speaking of which, it’s time you pitch yours.”


	8. 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how long this one took. I was on vacation last week, and before that I hit a huge bout of writer's block; Hopefully the fact this chapter ended up being almost twice as long as my normal chapters will make up for that!

As the Mandalorian stepped across the central aisle of the marketplace, he locked away in his mind the appearance of the nobleman Elliotte had pointed out to him. _ Lord Miryus _ . He’d not only been responsible for spraining Elliotte’s wrist, but also, apparently, a number of ongoing problems here on Listronus. Mando temporarily filed that information away for later, and he instead turned his attention to the fisherman behind the merchant’s stall as he approached.

The fisherman caught his eye and immediately poked at some of her fresh-caught fish, chattering excitedly about the quality and size of each one. 

Elliotte came to a halt beside the Mandalorian at the stall and occupied herself with admiring the variety of fish, giving him the amount of space and time he needed to lock in a trade with his merchant of choice. He held the spool of string in-hand, turning it over in his gloved palm. The merchant stole a look at it before shifting his gaze back up to the intimidating visor of the Mandalorian’s helmet. “A trade?” he said, “Are you looking for a trade?”

“Yes. We are,” Mando replied, turning his helmet in Elliotte’s direction. She simply offered him a reassuring smile. He could  _ do  _ this… it’s not like he’d never negotiated before. “This is… a very fine, sturdy material here. Perfect for stringing fishing poles.”

“Right. May I see it for myself?” asked the merchant, humming thoughtfully as Mando passed him the spool. He held it up, unrolling a little segment of it and pinching it between his fingers. “It  _ is  _ a bit stretchy---quite perfect, if you ask me. I wouldn’t mind making a trade for it. Has anything here caught your eye…? Or  _ your lady’s?” _

“She isn’t my--”

“How about five of these little zemmoks?” Elliotte chimed in, extending a finger to gesture to a long and thin fish, rather average in color, but distinguished by a needle-like protrusion from its lower jaw. 

The fisherman chuckled. “You drive a hard bargain, dear. Four and it’s a deal.”

“Alright then. Four.”

The merchant tucked the spool away into his pocket and turned to package up the small fish. He passed them across the row of fish to her and she tucked the wrap against her arm, thanked him, and nodded to Mando.

Once again, the two returned to the open marketplace. “Very well done! He didn’t doubt you’re a local for a second! I mean… perhaps other than appearance-wise. In that regard, you do sort of stand out,” Ell began, “I apologize for butting in there at the end… I just know we’ll need  _ zemmoks  _ for our next barter.”

“How many more of these are there?” Mando said, perhaps growing a bit agitated at the grueling process. As far as he could tell, they’d made no progress toward anything more valuable. A toxic fruit to beads, to a spool of string, to a handful of too-small fish… this hardly felt like a successful endeavor.

“This is the last one, I promise,” she assured, picking up on his annoyance, “I know these don’t look like much, but pitch them to the right merchant…” Ell shifted her gaze to a stall toward the front portion of the marketplace, and Mando followed her gaze. A plump and older merchant woman was receiving a handful of silver coins from a customer before passing him a basket of brightly-colored berries. That was their next target?

“That there is Misa. She’s an old friend of mine… has a real taste for zemmoks, you see. She has some old family recipe that requires a bunch of them, so she’ll snatch them up whenever anyone offers. In return, she offers useme nuts by the dozen… they’re these fist-sized nuts that grow in her personal orchard on the other side of town... crisp and incredibly tasty, especially when they’re salted the way Misa prepares them! Pretty great deal if you ask me,” Elliotte explained as she weaved through the crowd and in the direction of their target merchant.

Mando followed her, offering nothing but a grunt in response. He’d be rather happy to be finished in this marketplace. The heat of the day was unpleasant in the stuffy crowd, and although he was used to drawing curious gazes toward the sleek shine of his beskar, the continuous feeling of eyes watching his every move was beginning to grow taxing. 

“Misa!” Elliotte’s voice drew him once again from his thoughts as the two of them came to a halt in front of the merchant’s stall. Unlike most of the other vendors in the marketplace, it seemed Misa specialized in more than one thing---berries, nuts, fruits, and even a few various animal products from creatures he’d never even heard of. 

“Good afternoon, Elliotte!” said the friendly-looking merchant, “What can I interest you in today?”

“The usual,” Ell replied, passing over the wrap of fish she’d obtained from the previous merchant. 

“You know me so well. A dozen per zemmok---that’ll give you forty-eight. Agreeable?”

“Yes ma’am.” 

Misa grinned, turning away from her to set the fish down and began packing useme nuts away in a large basket. “So, are you going to introduce me to your  _ friend?” _

Mando managed to catch her eye for a moment before she offered a faint smile and turned her gaze back to the vendor. “This is Mando. I’m showing him around the market this morning… and the proper bargaining techniques.”

“That’s a handy skill to have,” Misa said, sitting back to blow a strand of hair out of her face. She reached over her table of goods in order to extend her hand, and Mando did the same, firmly shaking her hand. “Welcome to Listronus, Mando.”

“Thank you,” he answered.

“Well, here you are, Ms. Cantossan! Forty-eight useme nuts,” Misa added, lifting the basket off of the table and passing it to her. 

“Thanks again, Misa. See you later,” Elliotte said, looping her arm under the basket’s handle and carrying it off. Finally, they were able to leave the intense environment of the marketplace. As they drew further away from the noise, Mando was able to visibly relax, at least just a hair. “Okay, now I’m intrigued. What’s the purpose of so many of… those?”

“These are a great local food source here on Listronus. I figured you could take as many of these as you’d like back for you and your kid… and if it isn’t too much to ask, I’d like to ask if I could have the remaining ones instead of a monetary payment for this first day of guiding!”

“You can have them all,” answered Mando, tilting his helmet in her direction, “I have enough to get by on my ship. And the kid’s a carnivore anyway.”

Elliotte blinked, positively bewildered by such a thing. “We’re talking about the same kid, right? Th-the little green one? He’s a  _ carnivore _ ?”

There was a muffled almost-chuckle from beneath the helmet. “Yes. It took me by surprise too when I saw him eat a frog whole the night I found him.” There was a certain underlying fondness in his heavily-modulated voice that Elliotte didn’t miss whenever he spoke about the child. Spending so much time around politicians and noblemen, Ell was able to differentiate between fake smiles and genuine ones, and although the Mandalorian’s face could give her no true indication she could almost hear the smile through his voice. This child was important to him.

“I didn’t mean to assume. We can trade these useme nuts for some larger fish, if--”

“No, please… I can tell they have more value to you. I have enough food on my ship to get through several more weeks. Besides… I’d rather not go back into that marketplace again for a while.”

“Crowds aren’t your thing, huh?”

“Not really.”

Ell hummed thoughtfully, switching the basket of useme nuts to her other arm. “Well… I know a few places we can visit that are much less crowded. You up for a history lesson?”

“I don’t see why not?”

“It’s a good thing we bought these after all. We’re gonna need some for the trip.”

  
  


It turns out, “trip” was a bit of an overstatement. To the east of the city, the landscape gave way to hills and valleys. Most of the flat area had been developed into farmland while the hills were relatively untouched and wild. As Cietovus 8 climbed higher into the sky, the two cut through rows of knee-high crops, watching each step to make sure no plants were crushed in the process. Mando spent much of the walk admiring the change of scenery and enjoying the time away from the bustling city streets, but even he grew curious as to what exactly the destination was supposed to be. 

Ell, on the other hand, seemed to have the path memorized… which, he supposed, made sense in the grand scheme of things. She  _ had  _ lived here for all her life, after all. At first glance, the Mandalorian believed she was simply another haughty aristocrat. She certainly dressed like one and knew their mannerisms well, but upon getting to speak with her beyond more than a few passing words, he came to realize that she was kind, but without being naive and considerate without being a pushover. It was almost endearing in a way, the gentle balance she maintained. 

Mando must have been gradually slowing his pace, because once he’d finally drawn out of his thoughts, they were no longer walking side-by-side. Ell was a few steps ahead of him, still chattering on about the details and history of the landscape and pointing out specific structures in the nearby fields. By now, he’d come to realize that they were nearing the edge of the crop fields and approaching the base of a large hill. The incline was gradual, but scattered with trees and various rock formations that would make for some simple obstacles. Overall, it appeared to be a relatively easy climb.

“Where are we?”

“This is Listrona Hill. As the name implies, it has… incredible significance to the people of this planet. It’s also why the capital city is located so nearby,” Elliotte answered, already drawing closer to a narrow trail winding up the hillside, “But it’s not the hill itself that’s so important. It’s what’s at the top.”

Mando followed her, watching every step up the incline. “What  _ is  _ at the top?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” Ell said, “Back in the early days of this planet, Listronians were known for their unique spirituality. We believed every creature and object had a spirit and essence that it offered to the universe in a way only  _ it  _ could. Our deity was Artres, goddess of flowers and abundance. According to ancient myths, this hillside was her home… to this day, we still hold many funerals and weddings at the peak, and many of the older generations still believe it honors Artres. I’m not very religious myself, but the sentiment is nice.”

Mando listened to her explanation quietly as they navigated the tricky hillside, and Elliotte continued to recite old myths and stories about the creation of the planet, the supposed death of the goddess, and her rebirth in the form of a meadow of flowers, but her organized storytelling quickly dropped off in favor of enthusiasm as they neared the peak. She increased her pace until she was jogging the final stretch and turned around to wave him on and beckon him to hurry up.

Eventually Mando was standing beside her at the summit of the hill, looking out over a vast meadow of flowers that varied in color from blues and purples to reds and yellows and whites. The thick trees didn’t seem to grow into the meadow; Instead, they outlined the hilltop from the edges. The only thing around to interrupt the expanse of flowers was a small lake filled with crystalline water so pure one could see to the very bottom. In front of the lake was what appeared to be a small shrine.

The shrine itself was made of old, deep brown wood that had obviously been replaced and refurbished multiple times over the years. Semi-fresh flowers, wilted beneath the heat of the sun, had been weaved into the lattice pattern. Perhaps the features that stood out most was the pair of large antlers against the back of the shrine and the two sets of silver claws that dangled from them. While the antlers looked natural, the “claws” were clearly manmade--composed of the same carved silver that wrapped Elliotte’s forearm. 

Ell seemed to pick up on his curiosity quickly. “The antlers are from the Warhara. They’re a large canid species native to Listronus. Their antlers are strong and sturdy, and are worn by our Kings so that they may embody the same traits.”

“And these?” Mando said, cupping his hand beneath the silver claws.

“These are similarly modeled after the Warhara. To represent the spirit of a warrior. Before modern times, they were worn by footsoldiers and guardsmen, but obviously this sort of weaponry is outdated. These days, they’re worn exclusively for ritual combat… Look.” Elliotte carefully took the silver pieces off of the antlers and turned them over so that her companion was able to see the thin loop made on the underside of each claw. She slid her fingers into each loop and flexed them to show off the new extension of her hand. “They’re pretty cool, right? Personally, I think we should bring them back as part of our everyday wardrobe,” she took the claws back off and draped them back over the Warhara’s antlers before turning to him. 

“Princes of Listronus can lawfully challenge the Kings for the throne, but the only weapons they are allowed are those. It’s a dangerous event. Those claws are excellent for speed, but they definitely don’t provide the same kind of protection as your um… ‘beskar’, it is called, right?” She asked, stepping away from the small shrine and crossing the meadow to the edge of the small lake. There, she knelt in the grass beside the basket of useme nuts and patted the space beside her to encourage him to join her. He did so, and not soon afterward, Elliotte reached up and began to pluck the day-old flower buds from her hair. She unraveled them one at a time and set them aside in a neat pile beside her as she stole a glance in the Mandalorian’s direction. 

“Anyway, I’ve chattered on about history lessons long enough. I’m curious to learn more about you, if you would be willing to share. You mentioned earlier that you were a bounty hunter at one point… surely you have some interesting stories to tell?”

“Plenty,” Mando responded, the chuckle that followed catching on the modulator of his helmet, “... I don’t suppose you’ve heard of a ‘Mudhorn’ before, have you?”

Ell hummed thoughtfully, then offered a small shrug. “I’ve read briefly about them in books and on datapads through the years, but they’ve never been something I’ve heavily studied… why?”

The Mandalorian leaned back in the grass, placing his hands behind him as his helmet tipped skyward. “It wasn’t too long ago, actually… I was on assignment when a group of Jawas in their sandcrawler stole all the valuable parts they could scavenge from my ship. In order to get them to agree to return the pieces, they had me bring an egg of a Mudhorn as a trade. These things are… huge and incredibly territorial, and it wasn’t too happy to see me near its egg. I was outmatched immediately; It nearly shredded my armor and my weapons couldn’t even touch it --- in all honesty, I really thought I was done for. But then the kid, he--” he reached out to mimic the gesture the child seemed to make with his hands, but hesitated before finishing his sentence. 

Perhaps it wasn’t wise to share this information publicly. But Elliotte was enthralled by the story, fingers paused over the stem of a flower in her curled strand of hair and eyes wide with wonder and fascination, and the Mandalorian couldn’t find it in him to withhold the rest of the story from her. “All of a sudden, it stopped. The Mudhorn, mid-charge. I thought I must have died, because I sure didn’t believe what I was seeing. The whole creature was just… floating in front of me in the air. When I looked over at the kid, he had his hand out like this--” he mimicked the motion, “Keeping it suspended. I’ve never seen anything like it. With him keeping it occupied, I was able to finish it off but if he hadn’t… there’s no doubt I wouldn’t be sitting here now.”

To his surprise, when he’d finished his retelling, Ell snickered softly and set the last flower aside. “That’s an interesting story, Mando.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Sure I do. The universe is so vast and unique, there’s no way we can possibly understand all of its inner workings. Just because something isn’t common doesn’t mean it’s impossible,” now that she’d finished removing the petals and buds from her hair, she turned away and began to pluck new ones from the colorful meadow nearby. “Priestesses in Listronian history have exhibited similar abilities. It was thought to be a given gift by Artres herself, you know. Not that I believe too heavily in old religion, but perhaps your child has just inherited something similar. It sounds quite extraordinary.”

The Mandalorian cast her a glance from the side of his visor. Not only had Elliotte responded unexpectedly well to such a story, but she believed it wholeheartedly. He was hesitant to call it naivety, as she really  _ was  _ knowledgeable about her planet and people, but trust was a difficult thing to come by in his line of work. “You’re unpredictably nonchalant about this.”

To that, Ell laughed softly. “In my experience, closed mindedness is dangerous. It lures one into a false sense of security, content in the idea they have all the answers, whereas open mindedness allows room to learn and grow… to fluctuate and move, like flowers in an afternoon breeze.”

This sentiment only served to further cast a ripple in the Mandalorian’s original judgement of Elliotte Cantossan. Despite himself being the one wrapped head to toe in protective metal, the one  _ meant  _ to be a mystery, he found himself more at a loss with her -- the harpist whose only armor was the band of silver on her forearm and the woman who willingly sought him for nothing but his  _ company _ ? 

She had trusted him enough to allow him into her house and enough to agree to visit his, and even enough to bring him to the holiest space on her homeworld… and yet, as he’d come to realize, he still knew hardly anything about  _ her _ .  _ She  _ knew hardly anything about  _ him _ . And yet he felt drawn to her -- comfortable around her -- as if parts of him could seep through the gaps in his armor without worry in her presence. 

By the way Ell’s smile brightened just a little when she saw the t-shape of his visor faced in her direction, he could almost believe she felt the same. As he watched her begin to tie fresh flowers into her hair, he could no longer keep himself from asking the question: “The flowers… they’re incorporated everywhere on this planet. What is the significance? Why do you put them into your hair like that?”

“Spiritually speaking, flowers are symbolic to Artres--”

“No, why do  _ you  _ do it?”

Ell seemed taken aback by his question, normally steady fingers faltering and causing the strand of hair to unwrap from the stem of a pink flower. She quietly cleared her throat and began the process again. “We call it  _ artresmour _ . “Godlike love”. To put them on yourself is to express vitality and youth and self love -- to put it on anyone else is to express devotion and trust… it’s like saying… ‘you are important to me in a way words cannot describe.’ It’s not necessarily romantic; It’s romantic and platonic  _ and  _ familial. Some villages even use it as a greeting to strangers and newcomers. It unites us. Godlike love,” she paused briefly before continuing, “To me, it’s a way to deepen bonds; My best friend and I take turns every time we meet… it’s the way we acknowledge each other’s struggles and our fights to overcome them, and our way of assuring each other we aren’t going it alone.”

There was a brief pause between the two of them before the Mandalorian chose to break the silence. “How do you feel about… doing it blindfolded?”


	9. 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for supporting this fic so far! The feedback has made me smile and tear up many times this week and I can't thank you all enough for your kind words. Before we dive into this chapter, I wanted to drop a link to my tumblr blog that also holds "Claritas" and the rest of my works in case you'd like to send an ask about the characters or request some more in-depth Listronus lore. Come hang out! I'd love to get to talk with you all.  
> https://cross-poison.tumblr.com/

Once Elliotte’s eyes were covered by a wrap of thick fabric, the Mandalorian held two fingers in front of her face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Uh… three…? I don’t know,” came her response as her fingers sifted through the carefully aligned piles of flowers, all sorted by color, “You’re going to have to let me know what color I’m holding… and yes, it  _ does  _ matter.” 

Elliotte felt the faint shift in the air as the man settled in the grass across from her. “I will, I will,” he replied, “And you can’t see anything, right…?”

“Even if I could, I have my eyes shut… but please, if you’re uncomfortable with this, you don’t have to--”

“You’ve been nothing but trustworthy since I met you. I can offer you this much as thanks.”

Ell became silent at that, sitting back on her knees and fiddling with the hem of her dress. After a moment came a soft pop and hiss as his helmet disengaged, and a faint thump as he set it aside in the grass. She could hear him draw in a faint breath, and in that moment it was difficult to determine who felt more nervous.

In an attempt to break the uncomfortable pause, Ell lowered her head in the direction of the flower piles and began feeling around for them. “What color is your hair…? Do you have hair? Are you allowed to answer that…?”

When the Mandalorian spoke next, it was without obstruction--the first time she’d heard it so. “...It’s brown.”

“Then let’s start with… red.” Beneath her blindfold, Ell’s brows furrowed with concentration as she tried to remember the layout of her flower piles. “These are…?”

“Yellow.”

“And these…?”

“Blue. To the left -- there.”

Elliotte’s hand finally settled over the proper color. She took a few in her palms and shifted forward on her knees, reaching out to him carefully. Her knuckles lightly brushed his cheek and the Mandalorian recoiled abruptly. “Sorry--! I’m sorry--” she began, but he settled himself and drew closer again.

“No, it’s… it’s fine,” he answered slowly, willing himself to concentrate, “Here,” he bumped her wrist with his gloved hand, guiding her touch upward until her fingers brushed the softness of his hair. Mando was stiff beneath her touch as Elliotte carefully measured out strands of his hair, trying to gauge how long it was and how best to arrange a pattern within it. She’d cut longer stems on her flowers in case his hair was too short to wrap the way she did her own, but she’d quickly come to find his hair was curlier and a bit longer than she’d originally anticipated. 

Before placing each flower in his hair, she wrapped the bottom of the stem around her index finger and snapped it off, shortening it enough for her to disguise behind a curl of his hair. All the while, his eyes were on her blindfold, the anxiety that she could see through it never fully dissipating. Try as he might, though, his resolve began to crumble. Mando was able to watch the way she set her jaw in concentration as she looped a stem around her finger, and the way she chewed the inside of her lip as she fastened the flower securely in his hair.

Hearing her speak about  _ artresmour  _ before, he could not comprehend how the use of flowers could hold such a significant impact. How could putting flowers in one’s hair  _ deepen  _ a bond between people? 

As he watched his companion work through the process with him, he could understand now. 

The giver offered a piece of themselves within each flower; They hand-picked every flower, every stem, and each stem was finely woven between itself and other stems, invisible behind a curtain of hair. The giver was the artist, and the recipient, the canvas. The finished product was a work of art, but only the canvas knew the detail of every brushstroke and the genius behind it on a most personal level. It was a secret shared between the two of them. A silent dance of two souls in an empty meadow of flowers, and no one but the harpist and the Mandalorian around to know the significance.

How long had it been since someone touched his hair…?

Elliotte wove blossoms of red and yellow, alternating every so often and using nothing but her hands and muscle memory to guide her through the pattern. About halfway through her process, she felt the Mandalorian begin to relax. She felt the way his bunched shoulders loosened and how his breathing had mellowed out, and she knew if she could see him now without helmet or other obstruction, his eyes would be closed. He was no longer anxious.

She thought fondly back upon the countless nights her mother had tucked her into bed in a similar way, after Ell had been crying her eyes out over whatever trivial matter troubled her young mind. Her mother, always a patient woman, would sit at her bedside and sing nursery rhymes while speckles of white and blue flowers took shape around Elliotte’s head like a crown of petals. 

It seemed so long ago, and life hardly ever offered moments of security and sanctuary like she had known when she was little. Even still, the act of  _ artresmour  _ was one of the best ways to ease a mind into a sense of belonging. Everyone yearned for it in some way -- even metal-clad men from a distant planet. 

All good things must come to an end.

Elliotte fastened the last flower into his hair and felt briefly around his head to make sure everything was staying neatly in place. Once she was satisfied, she reluctantly retracted her hands from his hair. 

The loss of comfort was immediate for both of them. Just as quickly as it had started, the honey-sweet solace brought about by the simplest of human contact was severed, and the weight of real life came crashing back to the forefront of their minds.

“...Hungry?” Ell asked to break the tension, once again managing to draw the Mandalorian’s attention. She patted around in the grass until her hand brushed the roughness of the basket from the marketplace. She pulled the wooden basket onto her lap and opened it, fishing around until her hand closed around one of the palm-sized useme nuts. As she held it to him, he accepted it and the opportunity to eat a meal in the presence of another person without worry. 

Elliotte retrieved one of her own and again set the basket aside, shifting in the grass until she was facing the lake ahead. She crushed the thin shell in her hand and peeled off the shards, exposing the large seed within and pulling it out of the rest of the casing. Mando copied her actions and bit into the seed. It was rather plain in flavor, as most freshly harvested nuts were, but there was a hint of enjoyable sweetness to it.

A comfortable silence filled the air between them as they enjoyed the cool breeze wafting across the hilltop, sending ripples across the surface of the lake. Elliotte was still blindfolded, but she didn’t seem too bothered by it. Truth be told, as much as the Mandalorian wanted to remove the slip of fabric and be met with her blue eyes once more, he didn’t want to mess up the  _ artresmour  _ by putting his helmet back on over it.

“I’m sure it probably looks ridiculous,” Ell said, snapping him from his thoughts, “We’re taught to do it pretty much from the day we’re born, and yet… I’ve never had to do it with my eyes closed. It’s kind of a fun challenge.”

“It looks wonderful,” he replied, and he meant it. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from his reflection in the lake, and he especially couldn’t look away from the spots of red and yellow tucked into his dark hair. He looked like autumn. He looked like fallen leaves and a fireplace--like telling ghost stories and silhouettes bundled in warm furs, tucked away from the chilling bite of an evening frost. 

_ It’s like a picture. _

Mando hadn’t realized he’d said the words out loud until he heard Elliotte shifting beside him. He turned his head to watch her discard the empty useme shell and reach up to her own hairline. For the briefest moment, he thought she was reaching for the blindfold and nearly sprang for his helmet, but her fingers instead wrapped around a curl of her hair that had become untucked and began playing with it between her fingertips idly. “In a way, it is,” she murmured, one shoulder lifting in a sort of half-shrug, “Me, I’ve always seen it as a sort of living poetry--just instead of weaving _words_ , you’re weaving _flowers_. I’ve never been too good at putting words to paper, so  _ artresmour  _ makes for a satisfactory outlet.”

“And playing your instrument doesn’t?”

Elliotte gave a laugh that sounded more like a scoff. “The nobles make for a rotten audience. They don’t really listen to it anyway.”

“Then why do you play for them?” he inquired. 

“It’s less of an outlet and more of a necessity. The nobility are… difficult to work with, to say the least. They lack respect and common decency, but they pay better than anyone else. You said you used to be a bounty hunter, right? Surely you’ve had to deal with a number of unsavory people in order to get paid.”

“I have,” he admitted, unable to count on both hands the number of names that immediately came to his mind, “But… in a way, I’m able to remove myself from it. They have no idea who I am beyond a suit of armor and an empty nickname.”

“Is that why you can’t take your helmet off? To maintain some sort of anonymity?”

“Partially. The main reason is due to my religion. No living person has seen my face since… well--in a long time,” he explained, trailing a gloved finger over the t-shaped visor of his helmet beside him. “I blindfolded you not because I don’t find you trustworthy, but because if you  _ did  _ see… I would have to kill you. Or else never put the helmet on again.”

“You don’t owe me any kind of apology or explanation, if that’s what you’re getting at. I would never ask anyone to make that kind of sacrifice just because I was feeling  _ selfish! _ There’s no amount of curiosity worth overstepping a boundary like that,” Elliotte answered simply, crunching away at another useme nut. 

“You’d be surprised at the number of people who believe they’re entitled otherwise.”

Ell angled her head toward him, brow furrowing in bewilderment. “You don’t say? Here I thought I’d seen the  _ worst  _ of people. A sprained wrist isn’t looking so bad right now,” she mumbled, lifting her wrapped arm to emphasize. 

Mando’s gaze watched the movement of her forearm. “How does it feel…?”

“It’s not quite as sore today. Hopefully is isn’t as bad as I originally thought. Then again, I’m really in no hurry to go back to the palace…”

“Ideally, you won’t have to,” he said, finally reaching for his helmet and slipping it back on over his  _ artresmour _ ’d head. It clicked into place, and the next time he spoke his voice was once again muffled by the vocoder. “I’m going to pay you the same rate for your guidance that you were being paid for your instrument.”

As soon as the blindfold was removed from her eyes, Elliotte shot him an incredulous look. “Yeah, right, I wouldn’t ask that of you. That’s ridiculous.”

Before she could further protest, Mando was already passing her a handful of credits. “ _ Please _ . It’s the least I can do. You need it more than I do.”

Ell hesitated for a moment, looking as though she made to reach for them, but instead her hands gently folded his gloved fingers back over the currency. She shook her head slowly, worrying her lip between her teeth. “Your offer is generous--truly, it is, and I’m exceptionally grateful, but… the truth is, the money isn’t specifically for  _ me _ . I’ve got some… people I’m trying to look after. People who are in much more of a dire situation that myself. I have enough in my savings to keep me fed and a roof over my head for a while…”

“Then give it to  _ them _ \--I don’t mind.”

“Mando, you  _ are  _ one of them,” she said, and for the first time he noticed the wetness forming at the corners of her eyes. Elliotte paused for a moment to compose herself, closing her eyes to concentrate on how best to continue. “People have been stranded on this planet for  _ months _ . Acquiring Listronian fuel these days is no easy or cheap task, as I’m sure you’re growing aware. If you burn through your savings, you’re sure to be put in a situation just like them, and with your kid--”

“ _ Ellie, _ ” he said, and judging by the way she jolted, perhaps it came out a bit sterner than he intended. “It’s going to be alright. You’ve already got enough to deal with; The  _ last  _ thing you need is to start worrying about  _ me _ .”

Elliotte gave a weak laugh, lightly wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “I can’t help it--you’re very easy to worry about.”

Now it was his turn to chuckle. “Am I? Well… you’d be the first to think so,” he stood and offered her his hand to help her to her feet. “You seem to have rotten luck of your own. First the wrist, then an attempted robbery… can’t seem to catch a break this week.”

“Well, it’s not been  _ all  _ bad. I got some nice company out of it, didn’t I?” said Elliotte, retrieving the basket from beside her and turning to begin the walk back down the hillside.

Another soft laugh escaped through the modulator. “I’m not usually what people would consider ‘good company’.”

“I suppose the armor would be a bit off putting to some.”

“That and my typical encounters with people aren’t exactly the ‘friendly’ kind. When you have a lot of enemies, it’s best to hold your tongue in their presence. It’s safer for you if they don’t know much about you.”

Ell didn’t respond, and they were overtaken by silence as they descended the hillside, enjoying the coolness of the air as Cietovus 8 sank behind the hillside and left them in growing darkness. Before long, they’d reached the bottom of the hill. 

Back on flat ground, Elliotte turned to give him a smile. “Thanks for humoring me all day. I know the market isn’t super fun, but it  _ is  _ essential to life on Listronus. Hopefully Listrona Hill was a bit more enjoyable.”

“It was… and thank you for showing me. You make one hell of a tour guide.”

She laughed and rolled her eyes as the countryside faded into darkness behind them and the lights of the city drew nearer. “Do you mind if we make a quick stop before we call it a night…?” 

“I don’t mind.”

On Elliotte’s route, they crossed through the center of the city, passed the palace and her house further down the street, and continued along a quiet path to the western outskirts. Mando recognized the area quickly as the place he’d rescued Elliotte from the would-be mugger the night before… what  _ was  _ she doing in this part of town so frequently?

His question was answered soon after when Elliotte turned up the pathway to a worn-down house surrounded by overgrown shrubbery and hidden from the view of the street. Mando followed her to the door as she knocked rhythmically on the chipping wooden. Before too long, a woman with hair like fire opened the door. Her brown eyes were soft and full of kindness, and her presumably long hair was tied in place by dozens of tiny yellow flowers. She couldn’t have been much older than Elliotte, herself, but her expression immediately lit up when she saw her. The woman pulled her into a bruising hug and made some comment about how she’d told Ell not to be out at this time of night. The Mandalorian shifted his weight from foot to foot, and only then did she seem to take notice of him.

The redheaded woman recoiled in surprise, “Ell, I truly thought you’d brought me a  _ statue _ , but… this must be the Mandalorian you’ve told me so much about.”

Ell only had time to give an embarrassed “Rhy--” before the other woman stepped aside and held the door open. 

“Come in, come in. My  _ goodness _ , you are tall.”

Mando gave a sheepish ‘thanks’ and stepped into the small building behind Elliotte. The interior wasn’t much more impressive than the outside; It was small and cramped, and the smell of wood rot was rather prevalent in the air. To his left, he was surprised to find a crowd of people huddled around the small fireplace. When they took notice of Elliotte, many smiled or waved in greeting. Hardly any of them were Listronian; Mando recognized a number of species from planets far off. All at once, things began to click into place.

_ The fuel crisis _ . 

Elliotte mentioned that she knew a number of other people stranded like he and the child were, and said that a large portion of her income went to providing for those in a worse situation than herself. All this time, she’d been  _ aiding  _ them.

“This is Rhythimi,” Ell said, once the door was shut firmly behind them, “My best friend. Rhy, this is Mando.”

“Mando. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Rhythimi answered kindly, extending her hand.

“Wish I could say the same,” he replied, shaking her hand whilst stealing a glance in Ell’s direction.

Rhythimi chuckled. “No, don’t be silly. If I’ve remained anonymous, that means Elliotte’s done her job. That being said, if you’re here that must mean you’ve found yourself in a similar situation to all these folks… low on fuel?”

“That’s right.”

“In that case, I’ll be sure to add you to the wait list,” said Rhythimi.

“Wait list?” Mando inquired.

“Of course. For fuel.”

“You’re able to get it?”

“Sure, but it’ll be a few weeks… or even a few months. We aren’t exactly following legal protocols here. But… We’ll do what we can to get you home.”

The Mandalorian inclined his head.

“Sorry to drop in on you with a guest unexpectedly, Rhy,” Ell chimed in, “…we’ll be out of your hair shortly, but we did bring you these. Hopefully they’ll come in handy,” Ell said, setting the basket of useme nuts on the table.

Rhythimi smiled gratefully. “Of course they will. Every little bit helps. And don’t you dare apologize… seeing you is one of the few things I look forward to every day.”

Ell smiled, and the two exchanged a quick hug before she bid her friend and the refugees goodnight and made for the door. The cool air returned as she and the Mandalorian crossed the porch and descended the few stairs to the grass. “I apologize for not telling you about her sooner,” she said in a hushed whisper, trying to keep her voice down in case anyone was attempting to listen in, “I know you need fuel--I’ve known that since we met, but I hope you understand… I had to make sure you were trustworthy first.”

“I do understand,” he replied, turning his helmet in her direction. “And thank you.”

“For what?”

“Helping us.”

Elliotte turned to look at him, beaming with a smile that reached her eyes. “No worries… I’m glad to be doing something for a good cause.” The two reached the main street before she spoke again. “Thank you for your time today. I know it was… a lot of seemingly pointless information, but it feels nice to have someone to tell it all to.”

“Of course. I look forward to the lessons to come. In the meantime, I’ll walk you home,” he replied, and Ell looked like she wanted to protest, but he held up a gloved hand to quiet her. “No, you won’t be ‘troubling me’, stop it. You got mugged on this exact street corner last night. I’m not taking any chances.”

As much as she wanted to, Elliotte couldn’t argue with that. “Fine. But you have to take a cup of tea back to your ship with you.”

“Deal.”

By the time they began their trip down the street in the direction they’d come, the streetlights had begun to illuminate the ground around them. The Mandalorian felt much more at ease with the increased lighting the closer they got to the city, and much more relieved knowing she had agreed to let him walk her home at this time of night. Although his faith in her continued to grow, his faith in the city deteriorated. There were much more underlying issues here than he’d originally anticipated. 

Between a haughty nobility, a fuel crisis, a growing homeless population, poverty-stricken individuals, and a greedy king atop it all, Mando couldn’t help but wonder how gentle souls such as Elliotte and Rhythimi had managed to survive on this planet. They both were a light in a tunnel of darkness… a clarity. A  _ brightness _ .

A brightness the Mandalorian had scarcely witnessed in his many years as a bounty hunter. Without Elliotte, he hardly believed he would have given this planet more than a passing thought. He would know nothing about their culture or the people, and not too long ago he wouldn’t have  _ cared _ . However, more than anything he now wanted to learn  _ more _ .

Mando reached this conclusion the same moment they reached her doorstep. “Thank you again for everything,” she said, smiling over her shoulder at him. She reached for the handle and tried to turn it, but the door didn’t budge. She cursed and patted the sides of her dress, and even her sleeves.

There was a long pause before her forehead thumped against the wood of the door. “The key. I locked the key inside.”

The Mandalorian went to respond, but he watched her gaze shift from the door to the overhanging balcony a few feet up. 

“Hold on,” she mumbled, crossing the small porch and taking a large jump. Her hands found purchase on the bottom of the balcony and she hoisted herself up with skillful ease.

“This hasn’t been your first time locking yourself out, has it,” Mando observed, watching with his arms folded until he was sure she was up safely. Then, he copied her motions and swung himself over the rail.

“First time while I had company,” she answered, pulling the balcony doors open. She stepped inside the revealed room without a second thought, but the Mandalorian hesitated. The room was surprisingly spacious, with a closed closet at one side, Elliotte’s harp propped against the wood of the door, and a large bathroom at the other. In the middle of the room was a small couch and coffee table, and to his left was a small bed encircled by a thin white curtain. It became clear rather quickly that he was looking into her bedroom, and he immediately felt as though he was intruding.

Elliotte seemed to notice his hesitation and lifted her hands to ask him to wait. “You don’t have to come in! You can stay there--I’m just gonna run downstairs to get your tea.”

Mando gave a single curt nod and graciously turned to busy his attention elsewhere… “elsewhere” happened to be looking out over the railing of the balcony. Without his helmet, he wouldn’t be able to distinguish the features of the buildings barely visible in the darkness, but he was able to recognize the shape of the palace down the street, and the neighboring homes on this stretch of road. The marketplace was empty, and the stalls were covered individually by large sheets to attempt to protect the wood from rain. 

Before long, Elliotte made her way back upstairs, cupping her hands around a mug of steaming tea. “Here you are,” she said, carefully passing the mug to him, “Freshest Listronian tea you’ll get this time of night.”

He thanked her and took the mug from her. “Same time tomorrow?”

“We’ll start whatever time you want. I kept you out longer than I intended today, so… sleep in and spend some time with your kid.”

The Mandalorian smiled behind his helmet and realized a bit too late that she was unable to see it. “I’ll meet you here.”

The conversation should have ended there, and yet neither one of them made a move to leave.  Instead, Elliotte averted her gaze, looking out over the city. “Earlier today, you called me ‘Ellie’... I don’t know that you meant to, but you did. No one’s called me that since I was a kid.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean--”

“No, don't apologize,” she said quickly. She scratched her arm sheepishly, vision still focused on the flickering lights in the buildings across the street. “That was my mother’s nickname for me. It was my favorite...”

Mando didn’t miss the hurt in her eyes when she mentioned her mother, but even more so, he didn’t miss the fond smile that crept over her lips. He  turned his helmet slightly to the side, still watching her through the visor. “...Thank you for today, _Ellie_... I learned a lot.”

The corner of her lip turned upward. “I did too.”

“ _ You _ learned a lot about your planet today? Here I thought you knew everything,” he said, hoping his humor wasn’t lost through the vocoder.

“Not about Listronus,” Ell replied earnestly, “About  _ you _ .” For a moment, her blue eyes were drawn away from the visor and moved to his shoulder, where a red flower petal had fallen out from beneath his helmet. She lifted her hand to brush it off and watched it flutter to the balcony’s floor. 

“Oh…” he responded lamely.

And then Ell did something that surprised them both. 

She kissed him.

A soft brush of her lips against the smooth beskar of his helmet’s cheek. She pulled back just as quickly as she’d initiated it, face flushed the color of a rose, before she cleared her throat, offered a soft “ _goodnight_ ” and padded briskly into her room, shutting the balcony doors behind her. Whether she or the Mandalorian was left more flustered was debatable, as she’d immediately fled the area and he remained standing on her balcony for several long moments after she’d closed the door, a gloved hand pressed lightly against the spot on his helmet she’d touched.

After a few moments, he collected himself enough to turn his gaze from the doors she’d disappeared behind and back toward the view overlooking the city. Reluctantly, he eased himself back over the balcony’s railing and dropped to the street once again, ready to begin his walk home. 

“Goodnight,” he murmured to her front door.


End file.
